


Rivendell alphabet drabbles

by jamestelrond



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Study, Elrond Appreciation Society, Gen, Slice of Life, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25876276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamestelrond/pseuds/jamestelrond
Summary: 26 chapters of exactly 100 words each, based around Lord Elrond and Rivendell. Prompt words are chosen from a random word generator. Tags will be updated as we go!
Relationships: Past Celebrían/Elrond Peredhel
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Ancient

It had been alive long before the written word had yet gained a foothold in Middle Earth. It was told around fires, and told in hushed voices to prevent the darkness from listening in. And then it was written – first on scrolls of wood, and later, crisp linen pages on which confident strokes painted the words of the story. And there it came to rest. Sometimes, sometimes, it is still told. When the moon is high and the starlight bright, it is whispered into the silence of the library by an elf who knows the importance of keeping stories alive.


	2. Broken

Living things do not fade, in the valley. They thrive through all the seasons, blossoming in perfect succession, every hall and wall and pathway emerging from the green that grew on all sides. The elves, too, do not fade. Like the gardens they tend, they only grow wiser and more beautiful with the years. When an elf is made of stone, this is not so. Then her colours fade and her sharpness dulls. The years take and they do not return. A clematis coronet blooms above her gentle brow, renewed year upon year as her cherished features fade from memory.


	3. Calm

There is a council chamber, close to the side of the valley, wide and open at the heart of the house. Tall pillars encircle the elegant marblework floor, on which the opening of a white star blossom is held frozen in stone. The pillars themselves are scarcely visible beneath the climbing, flourishing trails of leaves and petals carved into their stone bodies. It is not often used. Visiting delegates and petitioners are more often guided to a small space, shrouded in living flowers and bathed in the warmer colour of sunlight, where they will not be heard, but listened to.


	4. Dirt

Elegance is almost inextricable from the thought of elves. To imagine them is to conjure images of soft, generous gowns, sewn from the finest silks and made more beautiful still by the perfect choreography of silver and gold embroidery upon them. Elves inhabit such clothing as if the thought of tripping on a long hem could not occur to them. They walk in beauty, peaceful and serene – with one exception. The gardens. The wisest elf cannot remember whether they wear silk or sackcloth, when their knees are in the dirt and their hands are buried deep in the earth below.


	5. Educate

If there is one indulgence which the Lord of Rivendell will not deny himself, it is his library. For many elves, the walls of books speak of something to be mourned. How could they not? Ranks of pressed paper where there could have been living plants; written words, bringing silence in the place of the Song. To see the library in this way was only natural. But there was more in those pages than mere memory. Every word written remained alive and in waiting, patiently waiting. And in thinking them again, an elf could bring them into the world anew.


	6. Fluttering

A standard, its outline of gold thread broken and disjointed where the fabric it adorned was torn and stained, its wooden staff still upright in the clay earth. Battles that are made beautiful in story and song are never so on the day they are concluded. Battles are ugly, and angry, and hollow. When the fighting is done, they leave nothing behind them but loss. One elf sat in the dirt by the forlorn standard, and refused to consider what had made the ground on this rainless plain so wet that his feet slipped on it. He closed his eyes.


End file.
